Of Overthinking Prophecies and Growing a Backbone
by Sarah1281
Summary: A Macbeth parody in which Macbeth does anything to avoid being called a coward and doesn’t believe in witches, no one notices Lady Macbeth is obviously evil, everyone overthinks the prophecies, and Malcolm may be the only sane man.
1. Act I

Act I

Disclaimer: I do not own Macbeth.

It was a dark and stormy night. This didn't bother three old women who were taking a pleasant stroll through a battlefield in the slightest.

"Well that was fun," one of them said.

"There's nothing like a good war to get the blood racing," the second agreed.

"I'm bored now," the last one whined. "The fighting's almost over! And our guy didn't even win!"

"He wasn't supposed to," the second reminded her. "He was just supposed to cause a lot of havoc-"

"Which he did marvelously," the first interrupted.

"That he did," the second concurred. "He was only a distraction for our next plan: get Macbeth to cause much havoc. And then possibly we can do something with Macduff…"

"Do you think our guy understood what we meant when we warned him that 'no loyal subject of Duncan' would slay him?" the third woman. "Because he seemed rather surprised when Macbeth killed him."

"It's not our fault if the mortals never listen properly," the first woman sniffed. "They're always so literal-minded. Say no LOYAL subject will do something and they start obsessing over foreigners and overthrow the one days away from regicide."

"To be fair," the second moderated, "It's not like the mortals have any way of knowing that."

"Not yet," the first conceded with a cackle. "But they will…Oh, they will…"

"Hooray for ambiguously evil plots!" the third cheered.

- -

"This is the last time I agree to a night thunderstorm battle," King Duncan groused. "I mean, the atmosphere is nice and I'm seriously loving the symbolism but it's just so miserable out there!" He paused, and pulled his perfectly dry cloak closer to him. "Or at least it would be if I were willing to get all wet and muddy."

Just then, a heavily bleeding captain staggered in, clutching his stomach. "I think I'm dying…"

"That's no excuse not to address me with the proper respect," Duncan said sternly. "You didn't bow or salute me or address me as 'your majesty' or anything!"

"S-sorry, your majesty," the captain apologized, hacking up some blood.

"So…what's the status?" Duncan asked curiously. "And could you try not to move around so much? It's bad enough that there's going to be bloodstains no matter what we do, but if we could at least minimize the area the stain is located at, that would be just fantastic."

"I'll try to bleed over less of your floor," the captain said sarcastically.

"That's all I ask," Duncan said magnanimously. "So…status report, captain?"

"Your son Malcolm looked like he was going to be captured by the Irish so I helped him escape," the captain began.

"And that's how you got wounded?" Duncan guessed.

"Not *cough* quite," the captain shook his head. "After we escaped, I slipped in the mud and fell on him so he stabbed me straight through with his sword. He said it was an accident."

"I lose more captains that way," Duncan said, shaking his head ruefully.

"I think your son's insane," the captain ventured to say this only because he was already minutes from death.

Duncan's glare might have killed him if he'd been any healthier. "Well no one asked you. Go die somewhere else and stop telling me how to raise my son!"

"I thought you wanted to know what else happened?" the captain managed to get out before another huge coughing fit overtook him.

"Oh, right," Duncan remembered. "Do go on."

"Macbeth had his friend Banquo sneak up behind Macdonald and tap him on the shoulder. When Macdonald turned around, Macbeth cut his head off," the captain explained.

"Why couldn't Banquo just cut his head off?" Duncan inquired.

"Apparently Macbeth wanted the glory more and Banquo just wanted to seek shelter from the storm," the captain replied.

"Then why didn't Macbeth sneak up behind Macdonald and cut off his head?" Duncan pressed.

"Apparently that wouldn't be a very honorable thing to do, sneaking up behind him like that," the captain guessed.

"But tricking him into turning his back and then killing him _is_?" Duncan was kind of incredulous.

The captain shrugged. "I don't think he's quite sane either."

"In an insane world, the sane appear insane," Duncan said wisely.

"And coincidentally enough, so do the bat-shit crazy people," the captain noted before falling over.

"Now, really, I get that you're wounded and all, but lying down in the middle of a briefing? I am SO demoting you…" Duncan muttered, annoyed.

"I think he's dead, my lord," a Scottish nobleman says, eyeing the body carefully, as he strode into the room.

Duncan blinked. "Oh. Well he's at least getting a demerit for this! Bleeding to death in front of your king…But never mind that, Ross, my good man. Have you any news?"

Ross nodded. "Indeed. The Thane of Cawdor has been captured and Norway has been defeated. What do you want us to do with him?"

"Let's kill him," Duncan said immediately. "I will not stand for treason."

"What about his title?" Ross inquired.

Duncan shrugged. "Like I care. Give it to Macbeth. I just heard he did something cool."

"Isn't he already Thane of Glamis?" Ross asked.

"Who even knows?" Duncan asked rhetorically. "Let him have both titles. What's the worst that could happen?"

"Well, since you've just said that, we're almost guaranteed to find out," Ross noted as he hurried off to go find Macbeth.

- -

"Can we hurry this up?" one of the women asked. "I was trying to see how many pigs I could kill with one bolt of lightning." These women were either crazy, witches, or both.

"And I was plotting how to ruin a man whose wife said I looked to evil to share her chestnuts with," the second witch added. "The nerve!"

"Well, she was kind of right," the first witch pointed out.

"That's not the point," the second sniffed. "You shouldn't judge people by their appearances, even if you do happen to be right."

"Hey, settle down you two; Macbeth is coming and then we can all get back to our various acts of evil," the third spoke up.

"Oh dear God!" Macbeth's friend Banquo cried out as he saw them. "You can't possibly be mortal! You look like nothing I've ever seen! And the evil aura! Oh, I think I need to sit down…"

Macbeth eyed him strangely. "They're just old, Banquo; don't you think you're overreacting?"

"They have beards!" Banquo cried out dramatically.

"They're old, it happens," Macbeth replied with a shrug. "I am so sorry. Normally, he's much more polite."

"Do not worry about it, thane of Glamis," the first witch said magnanimously.

"Yes, we'll remember it was him that insulted us, thane of Cawdor," promised the second.

"And we thank you for your kind words, my king," the third added.

Macbeth looked a little confused. "…I think two of you have mistaken me for somebody else. I am the thane of Glamis, that is true, but the thane of Cawdor is a traitor and Duncan is the King. Although even if you had mistaken me for either of them, no one in their right mind would think those three could be the same person…not that I'm saying you're not in your right mind or anything," he amended hastily.

"Don't apologize to them, Macbeth," Banquo said exasperatedly. "They're _clearly_ witches and that makes them not in their right minds."

"You don't know that," Macbeth defended.

"They're hovering," Banquo pointed out.

Macbeth looked. It was true; the witches' feet weren't touching the ground. "A trick of the light."

"You are lesser than Macbeth but greater," the first witch prophesized.

"How am I supposed to be both at the same time?" Banquo inquired. "Or do you mean that while, say, he may be a better swordsman I am better at riding and things like that? Because that's not really news as everyone is better and worse at something than everybody else. It's kind of a fact of life. And I can't believe I'm going to say that but…that may be too vague to be a prophecy."

"Your fate isn't as happy as his is, and yet perhaps much happier," the second witch tried.

"Okay, now you're outright contradicting yourself," Banquo said flatly.

"You won't be King but your descendents will," the third said bluntly, giving up the aura of mysticism.

Banquo blinked. "Really? That's nice."

"Tell me more about me!" Macbeth begged. "Why did you say I'm thane of Cawdor?"

But the witches were gone.

"Well that was weird," Banquo noted. "And if you didn't actually believe that they were witches, why did you want to know why they were calling you thane of Cawdor?"

"Well," Macbeth reasoned, "since the current thane of Cawdor is a traitor, chances are that they will need a new one and I wanted to know if they'd heard anything about me being the replacement."

"How would they know?" Banquo demanded.

Macbeth shrugged again. "You're the one who thinks they're witches," he pointed out. "And speaking of, apparently you will beget kings. How do you feel about that, given you don't even have a fancy title like I do?"

Banquo thought about it. "I suppose that if we have enough nobles rebelling I or my loyal decedents will pick up a fancy title somewhere along the line. It doesn't make nearly as much of an impact on my life as, say, the fact that you're supposed to be king."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Macbeth said, laughing. "After all, I've yet to become thane of Cawdor."

"Did somebody say 'thane of Cawdor'?" Ross asked, riding up to them.

Macbeth and Banquo exchanged surprised glances.

"Yes, we did, why?" Banquo asked cautiously.

"Because Macbeth is the new thane of Cawdor since we just executed the previous one for treason," Ross announced.

"Wow, that was quick," Macbeth noted. "So…does your son have his sights on any princesses?"

"Oh, who even knows," Banquo said dismissively. "Maybe you can have a daughter and our children can marry."

"Oh, that's a good plan," Macbeth decided. "That way we can both win!"

"Let's not worry too much about that for now," Banquo cautioned. "This all sounds great, but since the witches are CLEARLY EVIL and cannot be trusted, we shouldn't put too much stock in what they say."

"But it seems pretty straightforward," Macbeth argued. "Your children will be kings and so will I. Oh, I hope this doesn't mean I'll have to kill someone…"

"If it's inevitable that you will take the throne, I don't see why you would need to," Banquo assured him.

"You're probably right," Macbeth agreed. "Either way, let's think some more about this and talk later."

"Alright," Banquo agreed absently, already putting the strange encounter out of his mind.

- -

"Thane of Cawdor's dead," the King's son, Malcolm, announced.

"Did he die nobly, confessing freely and repenting of his crimes?" Duncan inquired.

Malcolm snorted. "No. He passed out when the sword got within three feet of him."

"…We should probably stick to that first version," Duncan decided.

Malcolm shrugged. "You're the boss."

Duncan was about to respond when Macbeth and Banquo entered the room, followed by Ross. "I have heard many good things about your bravery in battle and your willingness to go out in the middle of a thunderstorm," he said instead.

"Thank you," Banquo said and Macbeth echoed the sentiments.

"I would just like to take this time to declare that my loyalty to you is unwavering and I am, in no way, conspiring to kill you as we speak," Macbeth added.

Duncan beamed. "It is so good to be surrounded by people you can trust."

"Don't you think that's…oddly specific?" Malcolm asked, looking at Macbeth suspiciously.

"Don't be silly," Duncan disagreed. "He's obviously just trying to reassure me since this nasty rebellion has just been put down."

"It's your funeral…" Malcolm muttered.

"Is that a threat?" Duncan asked sharply.

"Oh, THAT you're concerned about," Malcolm said, shaking his head in clear disbelief. "And no, no it's not a threat."

"Good," Duncan said, relieved. "It would be most inconvenient if the heir to the throne were to decide he wanted me out of the picture."

"Heir to the throne?" Banquo questioned.

"What? Oh yes!" Duncan cleared his throat. "This may come as a surprise to many of you, but I have decided to name my son, Malcolm, as my heir. Once I die, he gets the throne so if anyone wants to be king, remember I'm old so kill him first."

"Dad!" Malcolm complained.

"What?" Duncan asked innocently.

"This is great!" Macbeth declared. "I'm sorry to hear about your suicide attempt, Malcolm, and I hope you seek help."

"What?" Malcolm asked, startled. "But I didn't-"

"So, your majesty, do you want to dine at my castle tonight?" Macbeth interrupted.

"I would love to," Duncan said, touched. "You're so thoughtful and considerate. If I didn't have children, you would totally be my pick for heir."

"Great!" Macbeth looked considerably cheerier. "I'll just ride ahead to inform my wife…"

"Oh, I am getting a really bad feeling about this…" Malcolm muttered.

- -

"'Dear Lady Macbeth'," Lady Macbeth read. "I can't believe he's so formal he'd address me like that in a private letter! 'I have recently become thane of Cawdor due to treachery and loyalty. Speaking of, I met some nice old ladies that Banquo kept insisting were 'evil witches' and they told me I'm going to be king someday but so will his descendents. Pretty great, right? Sadly, the king's son Malcolm has just been declared heir to the throne. I did not see that coming at _all_. So yeah…I'll be back when I can. Love you, your husband, Lord Macbeth.'"

"Hm. My husband, King of Scotland?" Lady Macbeth mused. "I like the sound of that. Of course, I like the thought of my being Queen even better. And yes, it might happen **eventually**, but if it's going to happen it might as well happen now. That settles it then: Macbeth will simply have to kill Duncan. Of course, he'll probably need some…_persuading_, since he's all talk, but this is important! This castle gets a little drafty in the winter, anyway…Though how to do it?"

"Excuse me, Lady Macbeth?" a messenger asked, entering the room. Lady Macbeth nodded for him to continue. "Your husband and King Duncan are on the way to the castle, along with all sorts of other less important people."

"Really?" Lady Macbeth asked, brightening immediately. "Excellent…" With that, she began cackling evilly.

"Um, are you alright?" the messenger asked her.

"Of course I am," Lady Macbeth replied indignantly. "Now go away before my newfound murderous rage renders you dead."

Quickly, the messenger made himself scarce.

"Hello, Lady Macbeth," Macbeth greeted her smiling as he entered the room.

Lady Macbeth narrowed her eye s. "You know, that was cute fifteen years ago when we first got married, but now it just leads me to think you don't remember my name."

"…Of course I do!" Macbeth lied. "Because it would just be ridiculous if I forgot."

"I'm sure," Lady Macbeth said sarcastically. "But never mind that: I have read your letter and have decided on a course of action."

"Course of action?" Macbeth asked blankly. "What course of action? Duncan's only going to be here one night."

"Oh, he'll only be here one night, all right," Lady Macbeth grinned evilly.

"That's what I just said," Macbeth didn't get it.

Lady Macbeth gave a long-suffering sigh. Her husband was so oblivious sometimes! "We're going to kill him."

"Oh," Macbeth said. He paused. "Why?"

"So you can be king!" Lady Macbeth answered.

"But Banquo said if it was going to happen it was going to happen so I wouldn't have to do anything," Macbeth protested.

Lady Macbeth rolled her eyes. "If Banquo told you to jump off a cliff, would you do it?"

"Probably," Macbeth answered honestly. "He hasn't steered me wrong yet."

- -

"What a lovely little castle," Duncan said, charmed. "A bit drafty, though…"

"That it is," Lady Macbeth acknowledged, moving to greet him.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Lady Macbeth," Duncan said graciously. "Even though you had no choice in the matter as your husband volunteered you."

"It's no trouble at all," Lady Macbeth claimed. "In fact, you being here suits my plans perfectly."

"Plans?" Malcolm asked, still wary from earlier.

"Of how to show my appreciation for everything King Duncan has done for us," Lady Macbeth covered.

"And I do love your husband dearly," Duncan said wistfully.

"Dad!" Malcolm hissed.

Duncan started. "But not like that, don't worry, your husband isn't cheating on you," he quickly reassured her.

"I wasn't," Lady Macbeth said slowly. "But now I wonder…"

- -

"So, Lady Macbeth," Macbeth said that night at dinner. "Are you sure we should kill Duncan? I mean, doing so with him sleeping under our roof would be easy enough, but just think of the consequences!"

Malcolm's head shot up at 'kill Duncan' but nobody else was paying any attention.

"You're just scared of eternal damnation," Lady Macbeth accused.

"No! I'm just worried about earthly ones. I mean, Duncan's my friend, my comrade, my King, my guest, and he's a wonderful and virtuous ruler," Macbeth pointed out. "In fact, there is really no reason why I should kill the king at all. That settles it, I won't do it."

"Do you guys hear this?" Malcolm demanded.

"What?" Duncan looked over. "Yes, Macbeth just said again that he has no reason to kill me."

"But…right before that…" Malcolm trailed off, recognizing a lost cause when he saw one. "Never mind."

"You are such a coward!" Lady Macbeth accuses.

"Because I'm a little hesitant about regicide?" Macbeth shot back.

"Yes. Be a man!" Lady Macbeth urged.

"And the only way I can do this will be to kill my king?" Macbeth asked skeptically.

"Yes," Lady Macbeth said firmly.

"There must be a shortage of men today seeing as there are a shortage of kings to kill," Macbeth noted dryly.

"It's a tragedy," Lady Macbeth said absently. "Now listen: tonight when Duncan's asleep, I'll drug his guards and then you can kill him. You can smear Duncan's blood on the guards so it looks like they did it."

"You're a genius!" Macbeth said. "And now I'm definitely going to go against my morals because you called me a coward."

"Doesn't anybody care that my father's going to die tonight?!?!" Malcolm demanded.

Everyone ignored him.

Review Please!


	2. Act II

Act II

Disclaimer: I do not own Macbeth.

"Dad, it's after midnight," Fleance complained as he and his father took a walk around the castle grounds.. "Can I go to bed now?"

"I suppose," Banquo said reluctantly. "Although I would just like to state that, for the record, it's kind of pathetic that my teenage son wants to turn in before his father."

"It's late!" Fleance protested. "I've had a long day."

Banquo crossed his arms. "That's no excuse; I fought a battle. Besides, it's only midnight. I'm kind of concerned, actually…"

"Great," Fleance replied. "Can you be concerned in the morning after I've had eight –to-ten hours of sleep?"

Banquo shook his head ruefully. "Where did I go wrong with that boy?"

"I'm still here, you know," Fleance felt obligated to point out.

"Where did I go wrong with you?" Banquo repeated, this time addressing his indeed still-present son.

Fleance shrugged. "Maybe it's teenage rebellion. You're a chronic insomniac, I'm about to pass out right now…What's the matter this time? Worried mom will refuse a witch in disguise her chestnuts?"

"No, that's not it," Banquo shook his head. "My treachery senses are just tingling."

"Well, given that you just helped put down a rebellion, that kind of makes sense," Fleance pointed out.

"It's not that, though…" Banquo said. "Personally, I blame the witches."

"You and your witches, dad…" Fleance said, rolling his eyes.

"It's not my fault they're everywhere!" Banquo cried.

"Banquo, my good friend!" Macbeth greeted him as he stumbled upon the pair. "Have you got a minute?"

"He has several," Fleance assured him, shoving his father towards their host. "In fact, he has all night. I'll be seeing you." With that, he practically bolted for his bedroom.

"I'm surprised you're still up," Banquo said.

"If only I could sleep. My conscience is killing me," Macbeth confessed.

"Your conscience?" Banquo was puzzled. "Because of the battle? Don't worry, MacDonald was a traitor and traitors always deserve to die, no exception."

"No exception, huh?" Macbeth repeated weakly.

"None," Banquo said firmly. "Besides, if the King is sleeping like a baby, why shouldn't you? He's the one who ordered the battle."

"Why aren't you, then?" Macbeth challenged.

Banquo shrugged. "Chronic insomniac. I did manage to drift off for a few minutes earlier but I had a dream about three weird sisters."

"What was so weird about them?" Macbeth asked.

"They were witches," Banquo explained.

"That is weird," Macbeth decided.

"Told you. So…earlier you said you wanted to talk about the witches' prophecy," Banquo reminded him.

"The what?" Macbeth looked blank. "Oh, you mean those three old ladies we saw earlier? I still can't approve of you calling them witches, even if they're not here."

"But they are!" Banquo protested.

Macbeth merely frowned at him.

"Fine," Banquo sighed. "The prophecies those 'kindly old ladies' gave us. Given any thought as to what kind of King you'll be?"

"The future kind," Macbeth replied. "Seriously, I'd completely forgotten about that. Tell you what, I'll think about it and get back to you."

"Works for me," Banquo shrugged before heading off to find his son again.

Macbeth turned to go as well when he caught sight of a floating dagger. "What the…I should probably get to bed too if I'm so tired that I've started seeing things." He tried to walk past the dagger, but it jabbed him lightly in the chest. "Ouch! Now I'm so tired I'm having tactile hallucinations! I'm going to categorize that as 'not good.'"

The dagger pointed insistently towards the King's room.

"What?" Macbeth asked blankly.

The dagger threw itself against a wall and then wrote out 'Duncan' in the dirt.

"I still don't get it," Macbeth announced.

The dagger threw itself against the wall in frustration again.

Macbeth reached out to grab the dagger, but it danced out of his reach. "What am I thinking? Trying to grab a hallucination. Worst case scenario I'll succeed and no I'm _really_ sleep-deprived. Hey, is that blood? Strange…speaking of blood, couldn't we put off the whole 'killing Duncan' thing until a night when I'm better rested?"

Suddenly, Lady Macbeth's bell tolled. The guards must be asleep. "Guess not," he sighed resignedly, making his way towards Duncan's chamber.

- -

"You know," Lady Macbeth remarked idly to herself. "I'm so evil that even **I'm** impressed. And how bold to kill a king in your own home? Suspicions will naturally fall on you, so to risk it anyway on the chance that a bunch of rambling lunatics are psychic…I'm taking refuge in audacity, aren't I?

Lady Macbeth frowned. "Now, unless my incredibly weak-willed husband chickens out, he should be murdering Duncan as we speak. Or, I speak. Still, once I'm queen I can use the royal we all I like and no one can say anything about it or I'll have them killed! Now, I would normally do the deed myself as my husband believes in 'morality' or some other such nonsense, but I've never killed anyone before and he has, so he's the one most likely to pull it off silently-"

"OH DEAR GOD! I CANNOT BELIEVE THAT I, MACBETH, THE OWNER OF THIS FINE IF DRAFTY CASTLE AND THE THANE OF CAWDOR AS WELL AS GLAMIS JUST KILLED KING DUNCAN IN HIS SLEEP AND PLAN TO BLAME THE GUARDS! I'M SUCH A MONSTER! BUT IF I MAKE KING, MAYBE MY WIFE WILL STOP COMPLAINING THAT I'M ALL TALK!" Macbeth bellowed, cutting her evil musings off.

Lady Macbeth groaned. "So much for that idea. Why did I marry him, again? That better not have woken up the guards…especially as I drugged them with near-lethal doses…"

"Okay, I did it," Macbeth announced, covered in blood, as he crept into her room.

"I was wondering what that loud confession with plenty of identifiers as to who you are was about," Lady Macbeth deadpanned.

"Sorry," Macbeth said sheepishly. "I kind of panicked…"

"Coward," Lady Macbeth accused.

"Hey! I just killed the King! Can we give the 'coward' talk a rest until I at least wash his blood off of me?" Macbeth pleaded.

"Fine, fine," Lady Macbeth sighed. "But only so you stop confessing."

"Why didn't **you** do it if you think I did such a horrible job?" Macbeth demanded.

"I would have, but he looked a lot like my father," Lady Macbeth admitted.

"That's because he was your father," Macbeth replied.

"That would explain the resemblance," Lady Macbeth said, unconcerned. "I figure that though we're both going to hell, I wouldn't want to descend another few levels my killing my dad. Besides, why are you complaining? I thought it was everyone's dream to kill their in-laws."

"To kill their mother-in-law," Macbeth corrected. "This was your father."

"If you even think of going after my mother, I'll kill you myself," Lady Macbeth warned. "The woman is a saint."

"She's evil!" Macbeth cried.

"An evil saint," Lady Macbeth amended.

"That's a contradiction of terms," Macbeth pointed out.

"Stop nitpicking and go clean yourself off," Lady Macbeth ordered. "And be careful: any and all blood you leave behind will make people suspicious."

"You know," Macbeth said uneasily. "Right before the guards passed out, they said their prayers."

"Guards do that," Lady Macbeth said. "People do that. What's your point?"

"When they got to the word 'Amen', I tried to say it but I couldn't," Macbeth continued, clearly shaken.

"Really?" Lady Macbeth asked. "That's strange. You said it fine just now."

"I couldn't bring myself to pray because I was about to commit regicide!" Macbeth cried out again.

"Will you keep it down?" Lady Macbeth demanded. "God, it's like you're TRYING to get us caught…"

"How can you possibly talk about God after what we've just done?!?!" Macbeth asked, perhaps louder than before.

Lady Macbeth groaned. "Don't tell me you're going to be one of those 'guilty' types. I should have known…"

"I just killed King Duncan, I think I'm entitled to a little guilty conscience," Macbeth defended.

"My conscience is fine," Lady Macbeth shot back.

"You don't have a conscience!" Macbeth burst out.

Lady Macbeth shrugged. "And thus it is fine."

"And to make it worse right as I killed him, someone said 'sleep no more, Macbeth does murder sleep'!"

"Well of course murder doesn't sleep," Lady Macbeth replied. "Murder isn't even a noun, much less alive."

"I'm never going to sleep again!" Macbeth wailed.

"Calm down, I can always drug you if it becomes a problem," Lady Macbeth assured him.

"That's not very reassuring," Macbeth noted.

"It's the best I've got," Lady Macbeth said. "Wait, what the hell is that?"

Macbeth looked down. "Oh, that's the dagger I used to kill Duncan."

"You idiot! You were supposed to leave it with the guards so they'd be framed!" Lady Macbeth hissed.

"Whoops," Macbeth said sheepishly. "Sorry about that. It's too late now, though, because there is nothing in this world that could _possibly_ convince me to go back.'

"Coward."

"Haven't yet washed the blood off," he reminded her cheerfully.

"Fine," Lady Macbeth groused. "I'll do it myself. I wonder if he left me anything in his will…"

A few minutes after she leaves, someone knocks on the door. Macbeth froze. The knocking paused for a moment, then started up again.

"Ah! It's a ghost come to torment me for my sins!" Macbeth cried, fainting.

When Lady Macbeth returned, she found Banquo standing at the door, hand raised to knock on it again.

"Oh, hello," he greeted her. "I was just wondering if either you or your husband has seen my magical floating dagger?"

- -

"What took you so long?" Macduff demanded as a porter finally opened the gate to admit them. "I've been knocking for three hours!"

"I told you we should have gone around back," Lennox reminded him, but Macduff brushed it off.

"I'm the thane of Fife! I shouldn't HAVE to go around!" Macduff insisted.

"Maybe not but it might have gotten us into the castle three hours sooner," Lennox muttered.

"Sorry," the porter apologized. "But it took me awhile to realize you were at the gate."

"But we've been knocking for THREE HOURS," Macduff repeated.

"True," the porter acknowledged. "But I'm quite drunk so first I had to figure out if the knocking was even real. Then I thought it was just a ghost coming to torment Lord Macbeth for killing King Duncan. Then I heard Banquo was going around asking people if they'd seen some possession of his that he'd misplaced."

"That still shouldn't have taken you _nearly_ three hours," Macduff pointed out.

The porter shrugged. "Well, I also might have had another pint and took a nap. Dreadful hard to sleep with all that pounding."

"If you'd opened it in the first place you could have taken your nap in peace!" Lennox chided.

The porter shrugged again. "Well, what's done is done."

"Greetings, Macduff," Macbeth said cordially, entering the hall. "What brings you here at four in the morning?"

"We wanted to speak to the King," Macduff explains. "He said he wanted to see us early this morning. Is he still asleep?"

"No, he's dead," Macbeth said absently.

"Dead?" Lennox repeated.

"To the world!" Macbeth covered hastily. "Dead to the world, yes, he's sound asleep alright…"

"You could have just said 'yes', you know," Lennox pointed out.

"No need to nitpick my speech patterns," Macbeth sniffed. "Still, if he wanted to see you early, I'm sure I can take you to him safely."

After Macbeth led the two men to Duncan's room, Macduff went in to rouse him, leaving Lennox and Macbeth to stare awkwardly at each other.

"So…" Lennox began. "The weather was really awful last night. I don't remember the last time I saw one like it."

"I pity anyone who was stuck outside during it," Macbeth said absently, eyeing the door to the murdered king's bedchamber with trepidation.

"So do I," Lennox agreed, still sopping wet from that very thing.

"HE'S DEAD!" Macduff cried out, rushing from the room. "THE HORROR! THE HORROR!"

"Who's dead?" Macbeth asked innocently.

"The king," Macduff replied, eyeing him strangely. "Who else would be in the king's bedroom?"

Macbeth just raised an eyebrow.

"Good point," Macduff conceded. "But it was King Duncan."

"My father was killed?" Lady Macbeth gasped. "I hope it wasn't messy…"

"Because you wouldn't want it to be painful?" Macduff asked as a large crowd of people converged upon them.

Lady Macbeth shook her head. "No, because there's no way I'm going to clean it up and if it's messy, the servants will probably want a raise…"

"Hey, what's going on?" the king's younger son, Donalbain, inquired. "Is Dad up yet? I need to ask him about something."

"Sorry, Dad's dead," Lady Macbeth said flatly.

"You don't sound surprised," Malcolm noted. "Or upset for that matter."

"I'm still in shock," she claimed.

"And you mentioned you were planning this at dinner last night," Malcolm reminded her.

"Prove it!" she challenged.

"Hey, look, there's a bloody dagger on one of the guards and the other has blood smeared on him!" Macbeth cried. "Urge…to..kill…rising!" With that, he rushed at the still unconscious guards and killed them.

"Oh great, now they can't be questioned," Macduff complained.

"Oh great, now they can't be questioned!" Lady Macbeth cheered. "Good thinking."

"Has anybody but me noticed that these two are obviously guilty?" Malcolm demanded. "They're not exactly being subtle…"

"What?" Macduff asked, surprised. "You think Macbeth did it?"

"He just cleaned off the murder weapon and slipped it into his pocket," Malcolm said flatly. "Oh, and it appears to be one of his custom-made daggers."

"Hm…" Macduff mused. "And he DID just kill the other suspects…"

"In my defense, I was so shocked and saddened that I couldn't control myself," Macbeth lied.

" A likely story…" Macduff said skeptically.

"Have I possibly found someone else who is not an absolute moron?" Malcolm asked, stunned. "Who are you and why haven't we met before?"

"Macduff and I have no idea," came the prompt response.

Before these two could form some kind of alliance and upset all her plans, Lady Macbeth 'fainted.'

"Someone help her," Banquo said. "I would do it myself, but she kind of scares me."

"Me too," Macbeth echoed.

"You know, whoever killed our father," Malcolm whispers to his brother, eyeing his sister and brother-in-law suspiciously, "is likely to come after us next. Particularly as I'm the next-in-line for the throne. We've got to get out of here."

Donalbain shrugged. "Whatever. I was going to ask Dad for permission to go travelling anyway…"

"I'm heading off to England to see if I can seek support," Malcolm informed him.

"I'm going to Ireland to get wasted," Donalbain replied.

"I swear, I must've been adopted…" Malcolm decided.

"Let's meet up to discuss the murder later," Macbeth suggested. "We can invite the whole court."

"Okay, when you say that do you really mean it this time or are you going to 'forget' like you did about the witches' prophecies?" Banquo demanded.

"Witches?" Macbeth repeated blankly.

Banquo sighed. "Never mind…"

- -

"So, um…who are you again?" Ross asked as he took a turn around the castle grounds with an old man.

"I'm the gardener," the gardener replied.

"Oh, right. Say, have you noticed anything strange happening recently?" Ross inquired.

"You mean other than the fact that Lady Macbeth bullied her husband into killing King Duncan and they keep talking about it in front of people?" the old man asked.

"Yes, besides that," Ross said. "Like it's daytime right now, but it's dark outside."

"That's because there's an eclipse," the gardener explained.

"What?" Ross asked.

"It means there are witches about," the old man clarified.

"Ah. Well that makes sense since last Tuesday an owl killed an falcon and all of Duncan's horses started eating each other," Ross noted.

"…Are you _quite_ certain that they ate each other?" the gardener asked hesitantly.

Ross blinked. "Well, what else could have happened to them?"

"The porter might have stolen them to sell for alcohol money," the old man suggested. "In fact, I saw him do it."

"No, they definitely ate each other," Ross insisted.

"Macbeth made King," Macduff said flatly as he exited the castle and approached him.

"Really? Why?" Ross asked. "I thought Malcolm was next in line."

"He is," Macduff agreed. "But he and his brother have fled the country it seems and as Lady Macbeth is Duncan's only relative still here and Macbeth himself recently did something cool, they gave the title to him."

"Well, it had to go to somebody," Ross said diplomatically.

I suppose…" Macduff sighed. "Anyway, he's on his was to Scone to be crowned. I can't help thinking about what Malcolm said, though. Even though the guards are obviously guilty, they had no real reason to do it, so maybe Macbeth HIRED them to do it and killed them to get out of having to actually pay them."

"And to silence them," Ross added.

"Right, that too," Macduff acknowledged vaguely. "Although everyone else seems to think it was Malcolm and Donalbain since they've left."

"I see," Ross said. "Shall we depart for Scone to see the coronation?"

"Meh, can't be bothered."

Review Please!


	3. Act III

Act III

Disclaimer: I do not own Macbeth.

"Life sure is strange sometimes," Banquo mused to himself. "We meet three witches Macbeth STILL insists were just harmless old ladies who just _happened_ to be right about Macbeth being king. And within twenty-four hours, too. It's a good thing that happened so fast or else Lady Macbeth might have found out and managed to convince him that he needed to do something proactive in order to get the throne. I guess this is just another example of how patience is a virtue and that good things will come to those who wait…less than 24-hours. I'm glad I don't have to do anything or even be tempted because my prophecy doesn't really even involve me and my son can become king on his own time. Or my grandson. Still, best not mention that else one of my possibly unbalanced relatives might try to off my best friend."

"So, how do I look?" Macbeth asked, entering the room in kingly attire.

"Like a king," Banquo said bluntly.

Macbeth beamed. "That's just the look I was going for!"

"Well, congratulations then."

"Dearest Banquo, will you attend our feast tonight?" Lady Macbeth entreated.

"That depends, are you going to screen your guards so we don't have a repeat of the last time I was here?" Banquo demanded.

Lady Macbeth laughed. "What are the odds of a grisly murder happening at our castle twice in one month?"

"I have no idea," Banquo declared. "And I'm not really sure I care just so long as I don't die today."

"Out of curiosity, where did you say you were going?" Lady Macbeth asked.

"Out riding with my son," Banquo replied cheerfully.

"With your son?" Lady Macbeth repeated gleefully. "Oh, that is just _perfect_, don't you think so?"

"Yay family bonding," Macbeth said, hoping his wife wasn't hinting at what he thought she was. "We need to talk later about what to do with Malcolm and Donalbain."

"Why must anything be done about my sweet, innocent brothers?" Lady Macbeth asked, wide-eyed.

"They may be plotting against the Crown," Banquo explained. "They are already under suspicion of killing Duncan and even though Donalbain is just interested in getting drunk at his age and Malcolm would have been King if he had stayed, you can never be too careful…Well, I'm off. I'm thinking about going the long way around the woods near your castle. See you later!" With that, he left.

"You can all go, too," Macbeth dismissed his court. Lady Macbeth, of course, stayed behind.

"So it looks like those assassins I asked to come by today will have an easier time than I thought," Lady Macbeth noted with satisfaction. "Seeing as how Banquo practically gave us** directions **on where he'll be."

"Okay, killing Duncan, distasteful and horribly traumatizing thought it may have been, I could understand. With him dead I'm King. Why on Earth do you want to kill Banquo? Do you just have a killing people thing now?" Macbeth demanded.

Lady Macbeth looked at him incredulously. "You said he was with you when you heard the prophecy!"

"Prophecy?" Macbeth asked blankly. "Oh, you mean when those three women told me they thought I was going to be king one day? Well that didn't happen because of any prophecy, that happened because of a case of regicide."

"That wouldn't have happened if it weren't for the prophecy," Lady Macbeth insisted.

Macbeth shook his head ruefully. "I have GOT to stop telling you what happens to me…"

"I didn't see you complaining when I killed the Thane of Glamis and snagged you the title," Lady Macbeth pointed out, crossing her arms.

"You killed the previous Thane of Glamis?" Macbeth asked, horrified. "You told me you had no idea he was allergic to wheat!"

Lady Macbeth snorted. "And you fell for that? Please. I know everything."

"I'm starting to believe that…" Macbeth said, looking suddenly wary.

"Oh, calm down," she snapped. "I'm not going to dispose of YOU. Due to blatant sexism, having a man around to officially hold my titles is very useful and you haven't proven a liability…yet."

Macbeth relaxed marginally. "Banquo knows I don't believe in the 'prophecy', though, and do, in fact, have to be reminded of what that was every time someone brings it up. There's no way he'll suspect that I acted to make it come true so quickly."

"That's not the only reason I want him dead," Lady Macbeth admitted. "You said that while we may be on the throne now that Banquo's descendents will be in control later. To me, that sounds like we're never going to have children and if I can't have a baby to pass on the art of manipulation to, there will be hell to pay."

"But…why can't we just arrange for any children we have to marry one of Banquo's kids. Or grandkids. Or just let nature take its course and trust that eventually our families will intermarry?" Macbeth pleaded.

"I can't take that risk," Lady Macbeth said firmly. "Besides, if Banquo's kid wanted the throne, he should have been willing to kill my father for it."

"Your guests, your majesty," a servant announces, two vaguely wild-looking men trailing behind him.

"I was expecting them, yes," Lady Macbeth informed him.

"Who are these people?" Macbeth asked suspiciously. "They look kind of…evil."

"Oh, so NOW you're okay with stereotyping but when it comes to witches it's 'wrong'…" Lady Macbeth muttered. "Although since if you insult a witch, they'll either kill you or make you wish you were dead, that's probably for the best…"

"We're assassins," one of the men said.

"The best in the business," the other said proudly. "No one ever suspects us."

"Then how did she know how to contact you?" Macbeth inquired.

"I have connections," Lady Macbeth said easily.

"So the Queen tells us that Banquo has, in the past, slaughtered entire villages of nuns and children, molested goats, and hired the guards to kill the previous King, Duncan," the first assassin began.

"He did WHAT?" Macbeth's eyes bulged out.

"It's true," Lady Macbeth confirmed.

"No it isn't!" Macbeth objected.

"It is if anyone finds out that we had Banquo killed," Lady Macbeth replied. "We did this in a misguided attempt to save our poor, dear friend's honor rather than having him tortured and killed as a traitor."

"Are you guys manly enough to kill Banquo?" Macbeth wondered. Seeing as how they were apparently handpicked by his wife, they probably were.

"We would have done it if you just didn't like the guy," the second assassin answered with a shrug. "We really should be going, though, if we want to make sure we get him."

"Macbeth, you're going with them," Lady Macbeth ordered.

"But-but he's my best friend! Isn't it bad enough you're having him _killed_ on a whim without forcing me to get involved?" Macbeth demanded.

"Coward," Lady Macbeth accused.

"Fine, fine, I'll do it!" Macbeth quickly agreed, hurrying towards the exit with the two professionals trailing at his heels.

"Make sure to kill Banquo's son Fleance, too," Lady Macbeth called after them. "I heard he ate all of Duncan's horses and then blamed it on his victims."

- -

"I'm tired, Dad," Fleance complained as he and his father rode along. "Can I go home and sleep?"

"Oh, this is just getting ridiculous," Banquo snapped. "It's only six!"

"All I know is, when the sun isn't out, I shouldn't be either," Fleance said defensively.

"Well, you can't because we have to go attend a feast at Macbeth's at seven," Banquo informed him.

"Macbeth's? You mean the creepy old drafty castle where the old king died?" Fleance asked in disbelief.

"Indeed," Banquo nodded. "They already promised to up their security so don't ask them about it. I think it's kind of a sore subject for them."

Suddenly, the two assassins and Macbeth jump in front of Banquo, spooking his horse.

"Ah!" Banquo cried as he was tossed off. "What's going on?"

"My wife wants me to kill you in case your existence means she can't have babies," Macbeth told him.

"But I thought we already decided that our families would intermarry," Banquo pointed out.

Macbeth shrugged. "It's not good enough for her, apparently. I tried to argue with her, but then she called me a coward and, well…"

"It's okay, I understand," Banquo said magnanimously. "There was nothing you could do."

"For the record, I am SO sorry about this," Macbeth said, pinning his friend to the ground while the two assassins delivered fatal wounds.

"Fleance, my son!" Banquo called out. "Avenge me!"

"Sorry dad, can't be bothered. I need a nap," Fleance replied sleepily as he rode off in the direction of his own home. "Maybe later."

"Ungrateful little…" Banquo murmured as he died.

"Well, let's go show Queen Lady Macbeth that the deed is done," one of the assassins said, picking up Banquo's body.

"Doesn't ANYBODY know her name?" Macbeth wondered idly.

- -

"Welcome, welcome," Lady Macbeth said with a smile as she entered the dining hall, followed by her court. "The King is not yet here but…no, wait, here he is."

"We killed Banquo," Macbeth announced, pointing to the two assassins who were carrying said body between them.

"And you brought it here?!?!" Lady Macbeth hissed. "You are _so_ lucky we're surrounded by idiots. What happened to Fleance?"

"He said he was too tired to avenge his father's death so he went home to take a nap," Macbeth explained.

"You were supposed to kill him, too!" Lady Macbeth reminded him.

"Was I?" Macbeth asked rhetorically. "Sorry, I was so traumatized by having to kill my best friend that I completely forgot about him."

"Actually WE killed him," one of the assassins pointed out.

"Yeah, you just held him still and told him how the Queen made you do it," the other added.

"Details, details…" Macbeth said dismissively. He went to go take his seat.

"Don't sit there!" one of the guests said, shocked.

"Why not?" Macbeth asked puzzled. "It's the King's chair and I am the King."

"There's a ghost sitting there and sitting on a ghost is just bad form," the guests explained.

"Oh. Well I don't believe in ghosts so-" Macbeth began, about to sit down again when his wife grabbed his arm.

"It doesn't matter if you don't believe in ghosts or not. Banquo's ghost is sitting in your chair and it would be very rude of you to offend our guests by sitting on him," Lady Macbeth said sternly.

"But…he's not real!" Macbeth protested.

"Then how can so many people see him?" Lady Macbeth challenged.

"I've only heard you and that one guy claim to see him," Macbeth said stubbornly. "That's hardly everybody."

"Fine, be that way," Lady Macbeth sniffed. "Alright, who hear can see the ghost of Banquo sitting in Macbeth's seat and doesn't think he should sit on him?" Every hand flew up. "I rest my case," she said a little smugly.

"You know, Macduff hasn't been to court yet," Macbeth informed his wife after choosing a different chair to sit in. "And apparently I have a spy in his household-"

"I know, I planted him," Lady Macbeth interjected.

"I should have known. Anyway, this spy told me that Macduff has no plans to come to court, which verges on treason. Do you think he might be on to us?" Macbeth asked anxiously.

"I think that's a distinct possibility," Lady Macbeth remarked wryly, remembering how Macduff had been the only one to pay attention to Malcolm's assertion that they had killed Duncan. "Go see those witches again tomorrow."

"Witches?" Macbeth was at a loss.

Lady Macbeth gave a put-upon sigh. "Yes, you know, those 'kindly old ladies' you and Banquo met who told you you'd be King and so would Banquo's descendents?"

Macbeth shot her a withering glare. "Thank you so much for bringing my dead best friend up a mere half hour since you made me kill him and while you think his ghost is sitting right next to you."

"Oh, get over it," Lady Macbeth ordered, rolling her eyes. "Anyway, do you remember them?"

"Yes," Macbeth admitted grudgingly.

"Go see them tomorrow," Lady Macbeth repeated. "See if they know anything else about the future or who is plotting against you."

"But they don't know the future," Macbeth protested.

"Then how do you explain that you're King?" Lady Macbeth shot back.

"You made it a self-fulfilling prophecy!" Macbeth cried.

"A self-fulfilling prophecy is still a prophecy," Lady Macbeth insisted.

"They won't know anything," Macbeth predicted.

"Just do it."

"How would I even find them? We both were just passing by in a thunderstorm last time," Macbeth told her.

"Just. Do. It."

"…Yes, dear."

- -

"So I hear that you three have been very busy in my absence," the goddess of witchcraft, Hecate, remarks. "I'm sorry to have been gone for so long, but there was this land war in Asia, and I simply couldn't resist..."

"Only a little," the first claimed.

"Macbeth was going to do it anyway," the second insisted.

"Or his wife, at any rate," the third added.

"You're lucky this is amusing me so much or else there would be hell to pay," Hecate said cheerfully.

The second witch gulped. "Yeah, good thing…"

"You've done good work so far, but kingdoms and dynasties are too important to be left to chance so I'll take over supervising your meddling in this affair," Hecate announced. "Well Macbeth comes tomorrow, summon visions and spirits to give him a false sense of security and confuse him. Make sure to be as cryptic as possible."

"Will do," the first witch promised.

"In fact, we'll work out our lines tonight," the third agreed.

"I wonder if he believes in us yet," the second witch said absently.

"Of _course_ he does," the third witch insisted. "He can't possibly be THAT stupid."

"And on the off chance he is, we'll just have to convince him tomorrow," the first declared.

- -

"Can you believe Banquo's been murdered?" Lennox asked, shaking his head in astonishment. "Who would want to kill him? He was so nice and un-ambitious."

"They say his son Fleance is responsible," the other Lord remarked. "Something about how he he's been known to say that he _would_ get a good night's rest if it killed his father. Unfortunate word choice if he turns out to be innocent. My money's on Macbeth, personally."

"Macduff thinks he killed King Duncan, as well," Lennox added. "He's gone off to England to help Prince Malcolm plead for King Edward's aid."

"If Macbeth has heard news of this that might explain why he's preparing for war. He's such a tyrant, though; he might have done it anyway. Does he really feel his actions and wanton murder can be overlooked forever?" the Lord asked rhetorically.

"Probably," Lennox agreed. "We all know the Queen is the one with all the power in that relationship."

"A shame she isn't using some of it to curb her husband's tyrannical and murderous tendencies," the Lord agreed.

"She probably just has faith in him," Lennox said sadly, shaking his head. "Admirable, if misguided. Here's to hoping that Malcolm and Macduff can save Scotland from Macbeth and Lady Macbeth from his as well."

Note: Lady Macbeth is a much more fun villain than her husband and as such I think she's going to keep pulling the strings...

Review Please!


	4. Act IV

Act IV

Disclaimer: I do not own Macbeth.

"Um, hello, I hate to bother you but are you the three women I met a month or so ago?" Macbeth asked as he finally managed to stumble upon the witches.

"Indeed we are," the first witch replied.

"That's great," Macbeth said, sounding greatly relieved.

"We don't normally get that reaction," the second witch noted, looking a little confused.

"It's just, I've spent the last three days looking for you and my wife would kill me – possibly literally – if I came back without finding you," Macbeth explained.

"And why is that?" the third witch inquired.

Macbeth looked a little embarrassed. "She thinks you're witches, you see."

"We are witches," the second witch pointed out.

"Nonsense, I'm sure you are perfectly lovely people," Macbeth disagreed. "Don't be so hard on yourself and no matter what Banquo said, you're really not THAT old and ugly."

"Thank you," the first witch said, nonplussed. "But we really ARE-"

"Well, if you want to play at being able to see the future, I guess I won't complain," Macbeth decided. "Especially seeing as how my dear wife wants to know if Macduff is a threat to her power."

"Don't you mean _your_ power?" the third witch corrected.

Macbeth shook his head. "No, I really mean 'her' power. She's the one having fun amassing troops, throwing parties, and hiring assassins. I'm just cursing my habit of writing home about everything that happens to me otherwise I wouldn't even be in this mess right now."

"You're the King," the third witch reminded him. "Most people would not see that as a mess to be freed from."

"True, but all I really want is for my best friend not to be dead and for my wife to realize enough is enough," Macbeth responded.

"Good luck with that," the first witch laughed.

"Yeah…So anyway, do you have any more 'prophecies' you can share or clarification on those you've already given?" Macbeth asked.

"We do," the second witch confirmed. "We feel that telling you would be too boring, though, so we'd like to show you via some visual aids. Do you mind?"

"Oh no, I love visual aids," Macbeth assured them.

"Great!" the first witch said brightly. "Here goes."

"Oooh! Beware Macduff! He wants to kill you!" a floating head warned him.

"Wow, that is some stunning special effects," Macbeth said admiringly. "It almost looks like that's really a floating disembodied head."

"It is a floating disembodied head," the second witch told him.

"Oh. Well you can't even see the string or anything," Macbeth quickly rallied.

"That would be because there's no string," the third witch replied.

"What? Oh, right. Don't ruin the magic, got it," Macbeth nodded.

"It's not worth it," the second one decided.

"Still, I'm not sure whether or not I should actually tell Lady Macbeth about Macduff…she'll probably try and have him killed and I always liked him," Macbeth mused.

"No man of woman born shall be able to kill you," a bloody child announced, appearing before them.

"Oh, God! Is she alright?" Macbeth cried.

"…Yes, she's fine," the third witch said, her eye twitching.

"Are you sure? She's covered in blood!" Macbeth objected.

"It's not hers," the first witch assured him.

"Oh." Macbeth paused. "Well, then does she need some counseling or something? I'm always available if she needs to talk…"

"About the prophecy, Macbeth?" the second witch cut in testily.

"Oh, right. So even if Macduff wants me dead I don't need to worry about him as he is not a child nor a woman," Macbeth deduced. "I should tell my wife that before she orders a hit on him or something."

The bloodied child was then replaced by a crowned child. "You are safe until Birnam Wood moves to Dunsinane Hill."

"So unless we decide to do some serious environmental work and repopulate the forest, I should be good," Macbeth acknowledged. "Wait…does that mean that until that happens I'll be immortal? Tales of immortality never end well…maybe I should order some saplings just in case."

"Why did we choose him again?" the first witch demanded.

"His wife is a kindred spirit," the third reminded her.

"Ah, yes," the first remembered. "Still, if she had come herself instead of sending her husband as a proxy, this would go so much smoother."

Finally, Macbeth walked as eight crowned kings walked by, the last of which carried a mirror. Banquo appeared at the end of the line.

"Okay, I'll admit, the last one got me," Macbeth confessed. "They were all kings and the last one was pointing a mirror at me as I'm a king and Banquo was there I guess to show his descendents will be king but I really don't get how that's supposed to be a prophecy. Were you running out of ideas or did you just feel the need to reiterate what you said about Banquo in case I forgot or-"

"We've said all we came here to say," the second witch interrupted. "Have fun working these things out and tell the Queen we said hello."

With that, the three sisters vanished.

"Okay. That was strange. But if they know my wife, why couldn't she have gone to see them?" Macbeth demanded.

"My King," Lennox bowed as he entered. "Macduff has fled to England and Queen Lady Macbeth wants to speak with you immediately."

Macbeth sighed. "I'm getting a really bad feeling about this…"

- -

"So wait…you're telling me that my husband just decided to take off to bloody England without even telling me?!?!" Lady Macduff demanded.

"Well, at least he asked me to tell you," Ross tried to console her.

"I bet he just told you and you decided I should probably know so I didn't think he had joined the ranks of all the people Macbeth has had killed recently," Lady Macduff countered.

"…I'm sure he would have bade me to tell you if he had remembered," Ross tried again.

"I'm his wife and he couldn't have bothered to spare two seconds to write me or send a message letting me know he was leaving? Why I married that man, I often wonder…" Lady Macduff grumbled.

"He has important things to do in England!" Ross defended the absent Lord of the Castle. "He has to try and convince Malcolm his life really isn't in THAT much danger so he can come back and to plead with the English king to send aid to Scotland in deposing Macbeth."

"So he ran away from home to stage a revolution," Lady Macduff said flatly.

"Basically," Ross reluctantly confirmed.

"My mother warned me this would happen," Lady Macduff said grimly. "But did I listen? **No**. He had such a nice castle, it wasn't even drafty at all…"

"You should trust your husband's judgment," Ross insisted.

"I'll trust his judgment when he starts using it," Lady Macduff said firmly. "Whose going to stop his enemies from taking us prisoner or killing us while he's off playing revolutionary? God, he is SO going to be sleeping on the couch for the rest of his life…"

"He loves you, really," Ross told her.

Lady Macduff simply glared at him and Ross quickly took his leave.

"Where's daddy?" the small Macduff heir asked sleepily as he made his way into the room.

"He's dead," Lady Macduff informed him impassively.

"No he's not," the heir disagreed.

"Well, not yet," Lady Macduff amended. "But if I ever get my hands on him…"

"RUN!" a messenger cried out as he burst into the house.

"Run where? And why? And who are you?" Lady Macduff demanded.

"I am a messenger from King Macbeth warning you that as you are a woman and child with a man who seeks to kill Macbeth, his wife sees you as a threat and intends to kill you. So if you value your lives, run!" the messenger explained.

"I haven't done anything wrong," Lady Macduff protested. "I only just found out my husband left!"

"That won't really matter to your murderers," the messenger pointed out. "Speaking of, I think I hear them at the gate. I'm going to take my leave now and I strongly suggest you do the same."

"Your husband is a traitor who has cruelly abandoned his family to die," a savage-looking man declared as he burst into the room where the messenger had just fled from.

"No arguments here," Lady Macduff agreed.

"Mother!" her son chastised. "He is not!"

"I don't take kindly to being called a liar, boy," the man growled dangerously, raising his sword and advancing on him.

"But I didn't," the heir pointed out.

"You didn't?" the man looked confused. "Oh. Well, I don't like being corrected either." With that, he stabbed the boy.

"When he dies, I am SO kicking is ass in heaven for this," Lady Macduff decided as the murderer turned on her.

- -

"First of all, let me assure you that I am grateful that you've decided to come here and help me out," Malcolm told Macduff. "But I don't exactly trust you. I hope this doesn't impact our working together."

"You don't trust me?" Macduff sounded hurt. "Why not?"

"Well, you left your family behind in Scotland after it became clear that Macbeth has taken to having people killed for little to no reason. If you were working for Macbeth you would have nothing to worry about but if not then chances are your family is already dead," Malcolm pointed out.

"My family?" Macduff repeated. "Damn! I knew I was forgetting something…"

"…You know what, I was happier thinking you might be a spy than that absent-minded, so let's stick to that, shall we?" Malcolm decided.

"Agreed," Macduff nodded.

"And now for a loyalty test," Malcolm cleared his throat. "Are you so sure I should be king? I sleep with a different woman every night, am greedy as hell, have a serious gambling problem, am a raging alcoholic, and have rather violent tendencies."

"Really?" Macduff blinked. "I never would have guessed. Then again, I suppose I really don't know you all that well."

"So what's your verdict? Ought I to be king?" Malcolm challenged.

Macduff considered the matter for a moment and then shrugged. "You couldn't be worse for Scotland than Macbeth."

"True," Malcolm agreed reluctantly. "And if so you could always hold another revolution."

"Besides, you were raised by King Duncan and he was a great and virtuous man. How could his children be any different?" Macduff asked rhetorically.

"My brother is a raging alcoholic and my sister is quite possibly the most evil person I've ever met," Malcolm responded. "I may not have those vices I just claimed to, but my father really wasn't the best at child-rearing…"

"The Queen?" Macduff repeated, shocked. "Don't be silly! She's one of the kindest, gentlest people around and is doing all she can to tempter Macbeth's madness!"

"How does she always manage to convince people of that?" Malcolm wondered.

"The King will be with you as soon as he is done curing the local orphanage of a recent outbreak of smallpox," a doctor informed them as he passed them.

"King Edward can heal disease?" Macduff asked, impressed.

Malcolm nodded solemnly. "Yes, it's the strangest thing. I'm hoping that given his fondness for doing so if we coach this in terms of Macbeth being a 'disease' upon Scotland then he'll be more inclined to help us. But whatever you do, do NOT make a comment about his 'healing hands.' It's tempting, I know, but apparently he's gotten quite sick of those kinds of comments over the years."

"So is your brother attempting to gain support in...Ireland, was it?" Macduff asked.

Malcolm snorted. "Donalbain? As if. I'll count myself lucky if he doesn't charge his tab to the Scottish Crown."

"Hey guys, is this a bad time?" Ross asked, looking distinctly uneasy.

"No, not at all," Macduff assured him. "We were just waiting for King Edward."

Malcolm nodded his agreement. "How are Macduff's wife and children, since he obviously can't be bothered to ask for himself."

"Fine…"Ross said, looking everywhere but at his two companions. "You really need to come back, Prince Malcolm. Scotland has kind of become a hellhole since you left. People are dying left and right and the Scottish army is getting to be quite a sight. If you don't return now with aid, who knows how difficult it would be to retake our home?"

"Don't worry, I'll be home soon enough. King Edward has promised me 10,000 soldiers in return for giving him Macbeth's castle as a summer home and my promise to make it a crime for any Scottish citizen to make fun of his 'healing hands'," Malcolm said confidently.

"Wow, you really weren't kidding about him hating to hear that joke," Macduff noted.

"Okay, I lied," Ross broke down.

"Scotland's fine?" Malcolm looked started. "With my sister in charge? Really?"

"If only your sister were in charge…" Ross looked forlorn. "Then maybe this wouldn't have happened…"

"What happened?" Macduff demanded.

"It's your wife and children," Ross admitted. "Macbeth had them murdered."

"What?" Macduff asked shocked. He fell to his knees. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

"Oh, NOW he cares," Malcolm muttered. "I recommend you turn your grief to anger for when we take back Scotland."

"Oh, don't worry, I intend to," Macduff said grimly. "Have you ever tried to get bloodstains out of the floor?"

"…You know, maybe Lady Macduff had a point about him not exactly being a family man…" Ross decided.

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	5. Act V

Act V

Disclaimer: I do not own Macbeth.

"So how is the Queen?" one of the ladies from the court asked the royal doctor.

"It is hard to say," the doctor replied. "During the day she seems perfectly fine and like there is no evil in her innocent world. At night though…"

"At night?" the lady repeated.

"At night, she has taken to sleepwalking," the doctor announced. "It is really quite alarming."

"Oh no," the lady gasped. "Why do you think she's doing this?"

The doctor opened his mouth to theorize when he spotted Lady Macbeth. "There she is – with a candle. Maybe she'll reveal something."

"Oh, if only I hadn't just found out that my husband is an evil tyrant…" Lady Macbeth moaned as she walked past them, appearing to be in a trance. "And all I've ever done is try to support him…where did I go wrong? Oh the completely unnecessary guilt! I cannot take it! The blood on my hands from being married to a murderer simply will not come off! And to think he murdered my father, as well…Do his crimes have no end?!?!"

"Well, that was informative," the lady noted. "Answered all of my questions."

"Yes, the Queen is truly something to be so obliging even while unconscious," the doctor said admiringly. "It's a tragedy that she is trapped in a marriage with such a heartless monster as Macbeth clearly is."

"Truly, he is more wicked than I had thought to have had his father-in-law and benevolent king murdered while he was supposed to be offering hospitality!" the lady sounded scandalized. "And then killing the guards who he clearly paid to do it!"

"While I agree that those guards deserved to die for their crimes, the killer should not have been the one who precipitate those crimes in the first place," the doctor agreed.

As Lady Macbeth stealthily returned to her room, she smiled. "Honestly, it's like I don't even have to try…"

- -

Lennox was standing around with the other lords, waiting for something to happen.

"So…" he began awkwardly. The last time he'd been involved in an awkward silence, Macbeth had broken it by talking about the weather, but he wasn't about to have that much in common with such an evil tyrant. "How about that military situation?"

"It's pretty amazing," another lord replied. "The English army is on its way and the Scottish army is going to meet them near Birnam Wood."

"The English army is lead by Malcolm, right?" a different lord asked. "I know he's next in line for the throne and has more morality in his little finger than Macbeth has ever had **ever**, but is he really qualified to lead an army?"

"If he can't manage that then he doesn't deserve to be king," Lennox insisted. "I mean, God, even Macbeth managed to whip the Scottish army into shape. Granted, he's since lost their loyalty and they will be fighting with us to overthrow the dictator, but proving yourself capable of leading an army is practically the most basic requirement for a monarch. Otherwise the other nations will know that you can't do anything to stop them and invade whenever they feel the need."

"Since Macbeth has no army, what does he actually intend to do?" one of the lords wanted to know. "I mean, yeah he's holed himself up in his drafty old castle, but he can't stay in there forever and he's got no army to stand against our sheer numbers."

"Well, the Scottish army only turned on him once the rightful heir, Malcolm, showed up," Lennox pointed out. "Maybe he thinks that if he kills Prince Malcolm then the army will submit themselves to his rule again."

"If Malcolm should die, Macduff could always rule," one of the lords suggested. "He needs something to take his mind off his poor, dead family anyway."

- -

"Lady Macbeth, I have news for you," Macbeth announced, striding into the hall of Dunsinane with the royal doctor and the attendants trailing behind him.

"Oh?" Lady Macbeth asked politely.

"The old ladies said that in addition to the fact that no man of woman born can hurt me, I'll be King until Birnam Wood comes to Dunsinane," Macbeth told her.

"The first I already knew about from your letter," Lady Macbeth acknowledged. "And as for the second…as long as no one takes up massive deforestation we should be fine. You might even want to pass a law to that effect."

"Huh?" Macbeth looked confused. "I thought it meant that if people plant more tress the forest could expand and reach here."

"Well, that could happen," Lady Macbeth acknowledged. "But that would take time. If people were to suddenly decide to cut down a bunch of trees and carry them over here, that would also fit."

"Why would that happen?" Macbeth asked blankly.

Lady Macbeth shrugged. "Damned if I know; I'm just trying to cover all our bases."

"From a fake prophecy," Macbeth said flatly.

"Believe – or not – as you wish," Lady Macbeth said airily.

"Oh, that reminds me: they said to tell you hello," Macbeth reported.

"Did they now?" Lady Macbeth asked absently. "Interesting. Seyton, my husband would like to know what our military status is."

"I would?" Macbeth asked. "You know, you have a point: I should probably know these things."

"My Lord, there are over ten thousand Englishmen approaching the castle," Seyton reported. "And are being led by Lady Macbeth's brother."

"Donalbain?" Lady Macbeth blinked. "I thought he was attempting to drink himself to death in Ireland?"

"No, your other brother," Seyton corrected.

"Malcolm, hm?" Lady Macbeth mused. "I can work with that…"

"Even though I'm sure that the forest will be right where I left it two hours ago, it never hurts to err on the side of caution," Macbeth decided. "Fetch me my good armor, will you?"

"As you like, your majesty," Seyton bowed and went off to do as requested.

"By the way, my Lord," the doctor said quietly to Macbeth. "Your wife has been sleepwalking. We're all quite concerned."

Once he, too, was gone, Macbeth turned to his wife. "Sleepwalking?"

She shrugged. "It's a good way to get exercise at night."

- -

"So I've got 10,000 Englishmen and the entirety of the Scottish army," Malcolm reminded everyone.

"We know, sire," his officer, Siward, said tactfully.

"Just reminding everyone what enough willpower not to mock a powerful monarch's ridiculous nickname can get you," Malcolm shot back. "Now on the one hand we have a ton of firepower on the other Macbeth has…what's Macbeth's plan?"

"I believe he is locking himself in his castle and refusing to come out," Siward informed him. "Not that you can blame him as the minute he comes out we're going to kill him."

"I see. That's just…well, it's a plan I suppose," Malcolm remarked. "Now I've been waiting around for weeks to persuade King Edward that I was serious about the whole not laughing at him thing while Scotland has turned to shambles and I would really rahter not have to wait around for another couple of months until they run out of food."

"Surely it wouldn't _really_ take months for them to be out of supplies, would it?" Siward asked. "I mean, how much can they possibly have stockpiled?"

"Macbeth's always been rather paranoid and my sister likes to be prepared for any eventuality so I'm sure they each have their own supply," Malcolm responded.

"Fun," Siward said wryly. "But what can we do?"

"Well…I had heard that Macbeth was something of an environmentalist. Let's cut down half the forest and see if _that_ won't get his attention," Malcolm decided. "Plus, that way if we have each soldier carry a branch or so then it will obscure our numbers. Not that we need to, because it's almost embarrassing just how outmatched they are, but it might trick them into thinking we're even MORE over-prepared."

"I knew there was a reason we were following you," Siward declared. "I'm off to go inform the troops about our deforestation strategy."

- -

"Well, if we're going to do this, we may as well do it properly," Macbeth decided. "Raise the banners, man the fort…just basically do whatever needs to be done to prepare for this onslaught."

"Ah!" Lady Macbeth cried.

Startled, Macbeth rushed to her room. "What happened? Is she alright?" he demanded as he saw the doctor kneeling over her.

"She's fine," the doctor assured him. "Well…physically. The mental state of someone who had just attempted to take their own life is always questionable at best. She needs to rest now, so don't stay too long."

"I won'te; I have a battle to prepare for," Macbeth promised as the doctor left him alone with his wife. "So what? After all of this, you decided to commit suicide right before the final battle? Do you really have so little faith in me?"

"Yes, yes I do," Lady Macbeth replied promptly. "You still don't believe that the witches are, in fact, witches."

"Because they're **not**-" Macbeth started to say.

"But that's neither here nor there. I did NOT attempt to kill myself just now," Lady Macbeth insisted.

"But…the doctor said-" Macbeth began.

Again, Lady Macbeth cut him off. "If I was planning on killing myself, I would already be dead. I would thank you not to think me so incompetent I couldn't even get that right. I merely wanted people to think I tried in case you lost and I needed to go with the 'so horrified by my husband's crimes I couldn't bear to live anymore' defense. It never hurts to err on the side of caution, remember?"

Before Macbeth could answer, a messenger flew into the room. "My Lord! Strange news! The 10,000-man army is making its way here…carrying the trees of Birnam Wood!"

"That sounds like another prophecy coming true," Lady Macbeth commented before closing her eyes. "Oh, the horror! The horror!" she cried dramatically.

Macbeth sighed. "You know, I'm actually starting to suspect that poor Banquo got the better end of the bargain…"

- -

"Hey look, Macbeth decided to show up after all. Alright, everyone drop your boughs and grab your swords," Malcolm commanded. "Unless, I suppose, you'd rather club people with your boughs. But either way, it's time to fight."

"Against one person?" one of the soldiers asked.

"Nonsense, I'm sure he has supporters somewhere," Malcolm claimed. "And it's up to us to find them! Do try not to kill anyone on our side, though."

"No man of woman born can hurt me, no man of woman born can hurt me…" Macbeth repeated like a mantra. "Ow!" he complained as one of the soldiers managed to swipe his cheek. "The hell? Are you a girl disguised as a boy who wanted to go into battle to either protect her father/brother/boyfriend or to escape the confines of your dreary existence?"

"Nope," the offending soldier said cheerfully. "I'm a changeling."

"That's very nice," Macbeth said, plunging his sword through the changeling's stomach. "And now you're dead."

"No…my father, Lord Siward, shall avenge me!" the boy claimed as he died.

"Did I just hear somebody say 'avenge'?" Macduff demanded. "I must find and kill Macduff for ruining my carpet! And killing my family, too!"

"Oh crap…" Macbeth muttered. "Run away!"

"Did I hear someone say 'run away'?" Macduff continued. "That is certainly not the Scottish way, you must be English – I say, Macbeth?"

"No?" Macbeth denied weakly.

"Are you sure?" Macduff asked skeptically. "You sure look like him."

"Well I'm not," Macbeth insisted. "I'm actually his identical twin cousin."

"Oh. Well that would make you on his side then and as long as you look just like him, I'll still want vengeance," Macduff said apologetically. "Nothing personal."

"Before we do this, let me ask: Are you secretly a girl, a minor, or a changeling?" Macbeth queried.

"Nope," Macduff replied.

"Can you think of any other interpretations for 'not a man of woman born' that might apply to you?" Macbeth pressed.

"Well that's quite an unusual question. Still, seeing as how I'm about to kill you I suppose I can afford to humor you a little. As it happens, I was born via C-section instead of naturally," Macduff offered. "Do you think that counts?"

"Damn it!" Macbeth swore.

- -

"I can't believe we managed to capture the castle with only two people," Malcolm marveled.

"Perhaps the 10,000 Englishmen on top of the entire Scottish army was a bit of an overkill," Siward commented.

"Possibly," Malcolm grudgingly admitted. "But it was also EPIC."

"Excuse me, Lord Siward?" Ross asked nervously, approaching them.

"Yes?" Siward asked idly.

"I don't know why I'm always the bearer of bad news, but…Macbeth killed your son."

"WHAT?!?!" Siward shouted, enraged. "I will have his head!"

"No need, I already got it," Macduff announced triumphantly, swinging the head around by the hair. "He claimed he was Macbeth's identical twin cousin but I knew better than to believe that."

"Because there's no such thing as identical or even fraternal twin cousins?" Malcolm asked. "Well…technically, someone could sleep with two brothers in a very small time frame and have it happen that way, but they'd still be half-siblings first."

"He had his name on the inside of his shirt!" Macduff declared.

"…Right," Malcolm said finally.

"Shortestrevenge trip ever," Siward said. "So anti-climatic."

"Hey, that's right: I totally just avenged my family!" Macduff realized.

"So very much not a family man…" Ross murmured.

"Hey guys, what's going on?" Lady Macbeth asked, coming downstairs. "I was just taking a nap when I heard fighting so…who wants to fill me in?"

"Gruoch," Malcolm began. "Your-"

"I told you not to call me that," Lady Macbeth hissed.

"But it is your name and your husband is dead," Malcolm informed her.

"I see. Well, you can still call me the Dowager Queen, then," the Dowager Queen informed him.

"What about your role in all of this?" Malcolm demanded.

"My role?" the Queen blinked innocently. "Whatever do you mean? Was it because I was not strong enough to stop Macbeth's madness? Honestly, I had no idea what to do! I tried to stop him, but he just wouldn't listen!"

"No one actually believes you, you know," Malcolm said flatly.

"Oh, how much you must have suffered!" Ross wailed.

"Truly, you are an inspiration, my lady," Siward added.

"Why couldn't my wife have been more like you?" Macduff cried.

"Okay, so maybe _they_ believe you," Malcolm allowed. "They shouldn't, but they apparently do."

"Actually, dear brother, I think you'll find that now that my evil husband is dead, you're the only person who doesn't think I'm some sort of saint. And not even the evil kind," the Queen said smugly.

Malcolm sighed. "Do you have any more plans to bring ruin to our great nation?"

"Nah," the Queen denied. "I've had my fill for awhile. Besides, as a widowed Queen, my status is unassailable."

"Long live King Malcolm!" Macduff cried out.

"Long live King Malcolm!" everyone echoed.

"Your bravery is to be commended," Malcolm began, "even if your ability to see the blatantly obvious leaves much to be desired. As such, I am making you all earls. But only if you show up for my coronation. I'm looking at you, Macduff."

"Fine…" Macduff sighed. "This is so troublesome."

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